


The Universe is Something Else

by storiesbymango



Category: Game: Life is Strange 2 (2018) - Fandom, Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexuality, Grief/Mourning, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesbymango/pseuds/storiesbymango
Summary: Set 8 years after Life is Strange 2, Sean and Cassidy make their annual trip back to Humboldt County, California to visit Finn’s gravesite and reflect on the time that has passed.This three-part short story was inspired by “Every Time I Hear That Song” by Brandi Carlile, from her album By The Way, I Forgive You.





	1. Part 1: Return

**Part 1: Return**

Placing the car in park and turning the keys out of the ignition, the engine shuddered to a stop.

_Eyes closed. Inhale. Exhale. Eyes open._

Sean exited the driver’s seat and closed the car door, satisfied. He welcomed the full, relieving stretch his body needed after the last two hours of driving. Pushing a button on the car’s remote, dangling from a black carabiner clipped to his belt loop, the car’s trunk opened with a _pop_. Sean made his way around the car to begin unloading, his black boots firm against the flat, narrow dirt driveway, but paused at the passenger side window, catching his reflection. He leaned in closer to the glass and gazed:

His tan face framed by the hood of his graphite-colored sweater, some ends of his lengthy, rich brown hair peeked out, just reaching his stubbled jawline. The stubble, short and a darker shade of brown, cast an equal, subdued shadow against the lower part of his cheeks, chin, and just above his upper lip. His glasses both complimented his features, the frames round and dark blue, and concealed old scars to the left of his eye and upper face. Craning closer, he noticed the slight curve of the window and its dark tint gave his eyes the symmetry he sought, making his left ocular prosthetic look even more natural. He continued to study his mirrored face until a small portion of the window began to fog up from standing so close. Sean stepped back and looked at himself one more time, conjuring a small, closed-lipped smile.

_I’m still working on this…but I like the way I see myself._

He reached the back of the car and raised the trunk: a hazel hiking backpack, decorated in different national park patches and a compact lavender rolling suitcase were his only luggage, the same he’s taken with him every year for this trip. The rest of the trunk held several water gallons and two grocery totes of nonperishable food to last for the remainder of the weekend. He noticed a box of Chock-O-Crisps had fallen out during the drive and Sean smiled, returning it inside the tote.

_Daniel’s favorite,_ he thought, _and always reminds us of Dad._

Unloading his belongings and supplies, leaving the water gallons for last, he shut the trunk closed and focused forward: the exterior of the rental cabin looked unchanged as it did every year — cozy, inviting, mocha wood that blended with the surrounding majestic coast redwood trees and a charming pointed roof, complimented with emerald green paint. The same emerald green paint framed the perimeters of the front glass windows and the main door frame, with the door itself painted in a clean, smooth ivory color.

The wooden steps of the cabin sounded off heavy _clunks_ beneath Sean’s boots as he reached the dainty railed deck. A square coffee table sat in between two rocking chairs, made of the same redwood, facing outward to the dirt driveway. Sean set the food totes down onto one of the rocking chairs and rolled his luggage to the side, freeing his hands; he punched in the access code of a black lockbox mounted to the left of the door and with a mechanical _beep_, the lid unlocked. Reaching inside, Sean’s fingers extracted a set of silver keys, lined with emerald coloring: swinging open the sturdy screen door, he slid the keys into the main door’s lock. Before twisting the brass knob to enter, he patted the soles of his boots onto the rough, copper welcome mat and turned around to marvel at the lushness surrounding the cabin’s neighborhood — thriving redwood trees of all sizes framed the area with leaves of cool and warm shades, the 4:00pm winter glow of the sun hiding and peeking in between clouds. The cabin community was fairly developed now, mostly hosting tourists, vacationers, and adventurers alike: children bicycling and scootering around its cul-de-sac, people walking their dogs, and others sitting out on their decks, chatting the afternoon away. The pace of life here seemed untouched by the outside world. To Sean, returning to this place was both literally and figuratively miles from the pace of his homes in Seattle and Puerto Lobos, but the peace of home also radiated here.

He drew in the cool February air into his lungs: he could not believe that he was here in Humboldt County again and that another year had already passed.

To his surprise, the door opened quietly and remained propped with no issues, its creakiness and heaviness from last year’s visit long gone. The cabin’s interior had a light scent of pine and vanilla, the temperature cool and comfortable, and similarly sized to a modest mobile home: a living room that was split into a sleeping area and kitchenette, a smaller bedroom near the back of the cabin, and a bathroom at the corner.A full stack of fireplace logs were neatly corralled on a black rack. Most of the decor matched the exterior's emerald green colors, complimenting the cabin’s homey and peaceful characteristics. Sean slipped the hood off from his head, revealing a golden knitted beanie that he had layered underneath, and placed his backpack at the foot of the twin bed situated in the other corner of the cabin. He removed his outer jacket, made of faux leather, and hung it on one of the bedposts before plopping himself on the bed’s soft edge. The cool air felt nice as it circulated into the cabin, through the screen door, as Sean observed the interior in silence, the happy noise of children playing in the distance. Suddenly, itch to draw his surroundings called to him: he reached over to dig into his backpack for his sketchbook and —

_Honk-honk-honk!_

From outside, three short blasts of a car horn sounded in a staccato-like fashion. Sean smiled: he knew exactly who had just arrived. It only took him four long strides to open the screen door and looking out from the wooden deck, his gut feeling was right. Parked behind Sean’s car was a vintage, matte black Ford F-150, the window squeaking as it rolled down. Popping her head out of the window, with a beaming smile and braided lavender hair, was Cassidy.

“Sean!” She hollered to him, her voice ringing in the air. 

A glowing smile illuminated on his face while making his way down the cabin steps to the narrow driveway, hearing a _clunk _and _clink _of the truck’s chassis and running board bowing as Cassidy stepped out with excitement: she rushed full into his arms, not bothering to close the car door, and let out a happy yelp. The two shared a warm embrace, with Cassidy burying her grinning face into Sean’s shoulder, his beanie tilting and nearly falling off of his head in the process, and his cheeks buzzing from smiling so widely.

“Cass, how the _hell_ did you manage to drive this dinosaur up from Sacramento?” Sean jokingly teased, glancing beyond her shoulder at the rusting chrome bumper and the aged California license plate centered just above it; his chuckle resonated gently against Cassidy's temple and she gave him a playful slap on the back and giggled.

“_That _dinosaur is actually a fine glass of aged wine, and still alive and kickin’, thanks to the fine folks over at Diaz Diagnostics.” Her voice filled with gratitude, breaking away from the hug and giving Sean an appreciative pat on the chest.

Diaz Diagnostics began as his late father’s car repair business, Diaz Auto Master, based back in Seattle: one of the family companies Sean began co-managing after college. Two years ago, Cassidy purchased the truck from a vintage dealer in Tacoma during a stop on her acoustic tour, unwavering in her hopes to salvage the clunker. Sean offered her the family’s car shop services, having the ancient car fossil transported to Seattle where the shop’s mechanics worked a miracle: a new engine, brakes, tires, and leather seats breathed new life into the vehicle and Cassidy’s dream of owning a vintage Ford came true; since owning the truck, she set her anchors in Sacramento, California, recording, finishing, and releasing her sophomore acoustic album. One of Sean’s favorite memories was attending Cassidy’s intimate album release party with Daniel, where the truck was the featured centerpiece on stage alongside her.

“Well,” Sean said as he followed Cassidy to the truck, “thanks to _your _new album, the last half of my drive from Seattle was a piece of cake. Every song is incredible: I know every word to every track…I’m proud of you, Cass.”She smiled and wrapped him in a one-armed hug, then reached in the backseat for a hardshell guitar case, covered in an array of stickers.

“You always believed in my music, my voice…believed in me. Thank you for that, Sean.”He grinned and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. With Sean helping to carry her other belongings from the truck, they made their way to the cabin to unpack.

“Just a sec…I’ll help get the fire going and dinner started,” Sean said, briefly stepping out. He returned inside with the water gallons and food totes and saw Cassidy’s back towards the front door, hands gripping her lavender braid, and taking in her surroundings. She turned to Sean, balling her fists inside the front pocket of her purple and turquoise Baja hoodie, her voice soft and smile small. She sighed.

“I know I say this every year we come, but…Finn…woulda loved havin’ a place like this.”

Sean felt a _pang _in his heart at the sound of Finn’s name. The golden, late afternoon sun peaked through the front windows and the screen door, coloring them both in a glow. His grip on the totes went slack, setting them onto the wooden floor as he stepped forward to envelop Cassidy in another hug. She exhaled another deep sigh into Sean’s shoulder and the two stood still in embrace comforting each other, the glimmering sun warming their clothes. It was true: apart from the oceanfront beach house Finn always used to fantasize about, he would have loved having a redwood cabin. Cassidy sniffled, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, and looked up at Sean.

“I’m sorry…you know it’s always the little things that get me started. I know Finn wouldn’t want me cryin’ over him.” Sean gave her a reaffirming squeeze and took his glasses off to wipe them. He had also begun tearing up.

“If there’s one thing we knew about Finn,” he said, a tiny sniffle escaping from him, “was that he sure as fuck wouldn’t want any of us crying…and that if he was here with us, he would’ve requested and payed the cabin manager in advance to stock the fridge up with booze before any of us even arrived.” The tension loosened in Cassidy’s body as they shared a laugh, their fleeting sadness unwinded into a soft nostalgia, but the undertones of Sean’s mind still lingered on Finn. An understanding silence fell in between them both as they composed themselves and slowly continued settling into the cabin.

“How was the drive?” Cassidy asked, helping to unpack the food totes.

“Surprisingly peaceful,” Sean answered, stooping briefly into the refrigerator to store the supplies. _Driving back here from Seattle is nothing compared to how Daniel and I…trekked it_, he thought. Clearing his throat, he refocused his thoughts and aligned himself back to the present. “I saw those photos you posted: you and those fans when you pit-stopped in Redding for breakfast, earlier today. You’re sweet, Cass.”

She set a cast iron skillet and a pot onto the stovetop and turned to him, smiling.

“A lot of these young people I meet, who listen to my music…they remind me of myself. They share stories about wanting freedom from shitty home situations, wanting to see and travel the world, about the friendships they have and chosen family they’ve created; being able to listen to ’em and relate through music, it’s just a really cool position to be in.”

Sean closed the refrigerator and nodded appreciatively. Cassidy had always possessed an aura of gratitude and a gentle spirit; he was happy knowing that others recognized that in her as well found healing through her music and voice. The two began to prepare and cook dinner, laughing together, making the most out of the kitchenette’s limited space. Within the hour, they were ready to eat.

“Let’s grub out,” Sean said, grabbing his plate and beverage, motioning with a nod towards the living room, “on the couch, though…Finn was never one for formal dining.” Cassidy laughed at how true that statement was, abandoning the efforts of trying to fit everything on the kitchenette’s tiny dining table and followed Sean.

_* * * * * *_

The two enjoyed a hearty, delicious meal, evidenced by their stacked, clean plates, empty water glasses, two empty beer bottles, a bare pasta pot, and the salad bowl traced with remnants of only olive oil, mix spices, and used utensils. Outside, the sun had begun to set and the air cooled to an evening chill. Putting her napkin down, Cassidy reached into her bag and pulled out a sealed box of Chock-O-Crisps with a smirk.

“I know these are Daniel’s favorites, so I brought him some.”

Sean looked at her and grinned, gesturing to the kitchenette counter, where two other pristine boxes of Chock-O-Crisps sat.

“Looks like we’re Daniel’s munchie plug for the weekend. I don’t think he’ll mind us opening one before he gets here.” They chuckled together as Cassidy passed the box to him. “But seriously, Cass,” Sean continued, “thank you…thank for your always being considerate to Daniel. I’m grateful you’re in his life…in _our_ lives.” Her deep brown eyes twinkled as she smiled.

“Daniel is a good guy…both of you are good men,” she said, “I’m glad we’ve all stuck around for each other, year after year. But now havin’ said that…” Cassidy unclipped a pocketknife from her belt holster and offered it to Sean.“You feelin’ up to some hot chocolate and Chock-O-Crisps?”

Sean, smirking, did not have to be told twice and carefully drew the blade out, gliding it smoothy to open the tightly sealed cardboard.

“And a song or two?” He asked with a smile, the sweet, sticky smell of Chock-O-Crisps wafting from the open box. Cassidy nodded and extended her right pinky finger out, gesturing an “I promise”. 

As she retreated to the kitchenette to prepare the hot chocolate, the sound of mugs _clacking_ together as they were pulled out from a cabinet, Sean looked down at the pocketknife in his hand, his thumb lightly brushing over its timber handle. He turned it counter-clockwise and brought it closer to his face to read the gold letters pressed into the wood:

A familiar ache in his heart began to pulse and the pocketknife seemed to grow heavy in his hand. He pressed the blade back into its handle.

“This was…Finn’s?”

Cassidy’s boots made dull _thuds _on the cabin floor as she walked back over and sat on the couch, putting an arm across Sean’s shoulders.

“Yeah, it was…” she replied quietly, “Finn was so proud of that thing. He blew serious cash to buy it and then got it customized with his family name…he thought it was the most badass thing ever. But he gave it to me after we had a scary run-in with drunk people in Vancouver…always told me to protect myself on the road, always played the brother role. Thankfully though, I never had to use it for anything, I just like carrying it around with me. Makes me feel like he’s still with me.”

Sean listened to Cassidy reminisce and remained silent, his gaze intently studying the relic. _Finn_…

“Would you…like to have it, Sean?” Her voice was tender and her eyes were kind, trying to read his face. He paused his thoughts and stuttered in reply.

“N-no…no, Cass. He…I mean, this is yours to remember him by. Having it makes you feel safe. You keep it. I just…” Sean took a deep breath, appreciating the comforting, circular back rub that Cassidy began giving him. The kettle on the stovetop began to _hiss _and Sean rose slowly, planting the pocketknife back into Cassidy’s other hand with care. “Hey…I’ll go finish off our hot chocolates. Meet you out on the deck?”

She closed her fingers over the pocketknife and gave Sean a compassionate look.

“I’ll be there,” she said, getting up from the couch, “and remember: songs are on the house tonight, so you better bring your singin’ voice.” Sean felt his smile return.

She gave him a final, reassuring grip on his wrist and retreated into the other bedroom, the muffled, busy sounds of her opening her guitar case and tuning the strings. Sean turned back to the kitchenette, the kettle announcing the boiling water was ready with a sharp, steady whistle. He went through the motions of tearing open and emptying the packets of powdered, instant hot chocolate into two mugs, gingerly pouring the boiling water into both and stirring them. The entire time, he remained inside his thoughts and memories of Finn were like lasers in his mind. He felt tears welling and they brimmed over when he blinked, the bottom rims of his glasses catching them. 

_Keep it together, Diaz…_

_* * * * * *_

The _buzz _of the compact outdoor heater was discreet as it sat on the wooden deck, facing Sean and Cassidy. Small lights, shaped like pioneer lanterns, were equally spread out on the deck’s railing, providing a peach colored ambiance. Two steaming white mugs rested on the coffee table between them as they sat on the rocking chairs, warm in their layered clothes, with Cassidy lightly strumming her guitar, her voice full and sweet.

_“Home ain’t a place where I own a key,_

_ home is a place where I can be free._

_ From rooftops to rivers, from swelters to shivers,_

_ I always can make me a home.” _

Sean looked on as Cassidy sang, her eyes closed and body moving gently along with the music. He always loved her voice. He admired how she held her guitar, the precision of her musicianship, her hands smoothly shifting from chords to single-picked notes. The music began to swell in a familiar way, Sean feeling it from his hair to his feet, and he breathed in, his voice singing in unison with hers:

_“People say I just run away,_

_ that I’ll never settle down._

_ But they can think whatever they want,_

_ ‘cause I’ll be leavin’ this town._

_ I was always whole,_

_ sometimes I was blind to see it._

_ I was always whole,_

_ my soul, it came complete._

_ My soul, it don’t matter to anyone else but me._

_ I was always whole.”_

Cassidy’s voice smoothly improvised in tune over the picked chord structure, cycling through the chorus’ music one last time before ending with a slow strum. Sean softly applauded as she reached for her mug, raising it for a toast. They smiled at each other.

“To another year,” Cassidy began as Sean touched his mug to hers with a _clink,_ “to Finn.”

“To Finn.” Sean replied tenderly, both of them taking sips.

A moment of calm fell in between them. The cabin’s neighborhood was quiet at this time of evening: muted lights from the other cabin’s interiors shone behind curtains and blinds. Few people were still out on their decks and the streetlights cast shadows against the surrounding redwood trees, giving them the appearance of gentle giants protecting the cabins and their inhabitants. Sean felt Cassidy’s eyes on him.

_ “¿__Qué…te preocupa?” _She asked. Her Spanish had improved over the years and Sean was always appreciative of her sincere effort.

He sipped at the sweetness of the hot chocolate, the ceramic mug comforting and warming his hands. He gazed at his boots and answered.

“_Tengo mucho en que pensar.” _He cleared his throat. “This is…the eighth year, Cass: eight fucking years. I was thinking about it earlier…I just can’t believe it.”

Cassidy tugged her jacket closer around her shoulders, clearing her throat and resting her arms atop the curved body of her guitar. “I know…” she said, her voice trailing, “…all them years since then, and I still have days where I daydream of Finn callin’ me outta the blue. Or surprising me at one of my gigs.”

Sean felt a knot tie at the bottom of this throat. His voice grew smaller.

“This time of year is always really hard for me,” he said, sipping his hot chocolate in hopes to undo the knot. Cassidy sighed in sympathy.

“Has it gotten any better for you…” she began asking, “when you talk about Finn?” Sean nodded and met her gaze.

“Therapy has helped me so much, Cass…being able to communicate my feelings in a healthy way has helped me _so _fucking much. Understanding the guilt, pressure, sadness, anger…the loss. But I also get that grieving has no timetable. Eight years feels like eight days to me, sometimes…Finn was…_is_…special to me.” Cassidy began to sniffle.

“I know…and he will _always_ be with you, Sean.”

_* * * * * *_

Since the cabin was petite, the fireplace was quick to warm it. With daylight so short during the winter, the two began going around the cabin, switching on a select few of the soft nighttime lamps, and drawing all the curtains shut. With the front door safely locked and bolted, the sanctuary of the space began to settle in. Sean was delighted to finally shed his February layers, hanging his faux leather jacket once again on a brass bedpost and taking off his hoodie. After a warm shower, he swiftly changed into his pajama shorts and a comfortable black undershirt. He smoothed his hair back, tucking a few loose strands behind his ears. The emerald desk lamp on his side table provided a soothing light that washed against the corner where his bed was positioned; stacked on his side table was his sketchbook, a novel, and wireless headphones, his cellphone charging in the nearby outlet. Sean looked at his belongings, the normalcy of these items giving him peace.

Cassidy emerged from the bathroom in her sunflower pajamas, her soft, washed lavender hair now unbraided and secured with a loose, milky colored headband. She sat near the foot of Sean’s bed and looked at the living room, sighing.

“This cabin sure hasn’t changed at all since the first year we came…can’t say much about the neighbors, though. It’s more like, “suburbia cabin camping” nowadays.”

Sean welcomed the smile her humor procured. He sat down beside her, taking off his glasses to wipe them.

“Sean Eduardo…” Cassidy’s eyes narrowed, her tone serious, “…did you…get a new tattoo…and not show me yet?”

Sean laughed and placed his glasses back on, lifting his right arm to Cassidy’s eye level and pointing to the top of his wrist. In small lettering, the tattoo read:

“I Was Always Whole”.

Cassidy placed a hand over her mouth, a small gasp escaping in between her fingers and her eyes gleaming wide.

“You’re fucking kidding me…Sean! What the —”

“I was…inspired to get this done,” he explained, beaming while she enveloped him in a joyous hug, “after your new song charted on Indie Hits last month.”

Cassidy was in disbelief at seeing her lyrics on Sean’s skin. She studied the letters more, until gently rotating his wrist to where the rest of his forearm came into view, analyzing the shapes and colors of his tattoo sleeve. Her eyes scanned the details of each tattoo shape until she recognized the faint, dark outline of a wolf, perfectly embedded into the plethora of tattooed designs displayed Sean’s forearm, a living art canvas that grew over the last few years. Her warm smile deepened.

“Sean, it means a lot to me that you kept this.” She said, tracing the wolf’s outline with her finger. He took his turn to trace over it.

“It’s more than just art to me…that time of my life, meeting you, Finn, and the gang, was one of the best experiences I ever had. I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything. Even if…things would have worked out differently, for Finn…” Sean became aware of Cassidy’s eyes on him, as if she could also feel the tightness forming in his chest and the way his stomach seemed to empty when mentioning Finn. He took a deep breath and continued the tattoo conversation with Cassidy.

“Oh, and this…” he lifted the right sleeve of his undershirt, revealing a dark, quarter-sized tattoo of a clawed wolf’s paw at the top of his bicep, the only tattoo on that portion of his body, “…is the matching tattoo I got with Daniel two weeks ago, on his 17th birthday.” Cassidy gasped again, in awe. The tattoo was drawn using the smallest, finest lines: the seemingly simple details of the piece from afar revealed intricate line-work up close.

“Is _that _what Daniel’s been texting me about, "a surprise"?” She viewed the tattoo closer, expressing a happy sigh. “The detail, the symbolism…damn, it’s _beautiful_, Sean! I can’t wait for him to show me his, when he gets here.” Cassidy’s attention was drawn to the wolf patch ironed onto the shoulder of Sean’s faux leather jacket.

“Daniel’s comin’ in two days, right?” She asked, shifting her gaze back to Sean. "I haven't given him a hug since seeing y'all at my album release party...way too long."

“Yup. I’ll be picking him up at the Arcata airport: he’s flying in from San Francisco. He's been hyped to see you again.”

“Then I’ll make sure to have a feast ready this weekend, worthy for y’all: the two-man wolf pack.” Sean smiled while Cassidy continued, "Daniel's a good kid, Sean. His heart's in the right place."

Sean felt comforted by Cassidy’s sincere kindness. He was grateful for the friendship that her and Daniel formed over the years. He was grateful that Daniel accepted Cassidy in his life, for working through disagreements and growing; he was grateful that Daniel could have another strong and positive sisterly figure in his life, alongside Lyla, encouraging him to be himself, to continue being kind. Daniel, who had freshly turned 17, was in many ways what Sean wished he was like at that age. After the events back in 2017 and rebuilding life back in Seattle, Daniel had completed high school a year early, using the gap year to learn and work alongside Sean at his art startup, Diaz Designs. The opportunity to teach his younger brother firsthand experience in the upkeep of their late father’s auto repair business and Sean’s art ventures was a blessing, but more than anything, it gave the two brothers time together to strengthen their unbreakable life bond, healing from the trauma inflicted upon them in their young lives, nearly eight years ago.

“Hey,” Cassidy said, leaning in for a hug, “bedtime is callin’ my name. But thank you for singing with me tonight. Thank you for showing me the new ink. Thank you for being you, Sean Eduardo.”

Cassidy’s embrace felt like a lullaby, the peace in his heart growing. Only then did Sean realize the sleepiness in his own body.

“Sweet dreams, Cass. Sleep well. Thank you, too, for…being here with me. I wound’t be able to do this trip alone. Thank you.” Patting his back, Cassidy took the short three steps into her bedroom, the trail of her sweet humming fading as she closed the door.

Sean waited a moment before getting up to go into the nearby bathroom, bright lights turning on as he pressed the switch with a soft _click_. The bathroom was expectedly cramped and basic, but functional: a standing shower, a composting toilet, and a basin sink with an oval mirror hanging on the wall. The floor tiles had been changed from last year, now sporting an emerald hue, matching with the cabin’s theme. He squinted his eyes in response to the sharp, bright LED lights, adjusting his vision from the yellow-glowing coziness of the living room. He approached the sink, his abdomen pressing up against the lip of the basin, and looked directly into the mirror at his reflection, the sleepiness and tiredness very clear in his face; washing his face and hands with warm water soothed the muscles in his eyebrows, jawline, and throat. After patting himself dry with a face towel, he set it down, and gave his reflection another deep gaze. He gingerly pulled down his left lower eyelid, his other hand aiding in sliding out his eye prosthesis.

He delicately held the prosthesis and brought his gaze back to his reflection and simply stared at his facial asymmetry, at the plain, fleshy pocket he had grown accustomed to; he was no longer afraid of his appearance without his prosthesis, although it took years of unlearning negative self-talk and embracing self-compassion. His self-perception was not without flaws and there were still days where he would frown and scrutinize his reflection, the memories of the events leading up to the loss of his eye haunting him.

Sean stood silently. He thought of Finn.

_I wonder…if he was still with us…would he like me this way?_

The pounding in Sean’s head was a signal from his body asking for relaxation and sleep. Sighing deeply, he re-inserted his prosthesis with the same ease as removing it, the years of trial, error, and practice showing through his tender maneuvers. He blinked twice and the symmetry of his gaze was restored, two brilliant brown eyes reflecting back at him. Thoughts of Finn continued to spin in his mind.

Turning off the bathroom light, he quietly returned to the refuge of his bed and propped the white and emerald pillows against the headboard, supporting his back as he sat upright. The cabin was serene and Cassidy was most likely already asleep. He continued to sit and contemplate, his thoughts coming and going, entering and leaving.

_Damn it, Finn…_

Sean paused: he picked up on the subtle crackling of the fireplace, looking across the living room at the logs slowly burning, the flames curling and flicking upward in their red-orange tint. The fireplace enchanted him, conjuring a chain of memories of exactly where he was eight years ago.

He closed his eyes and remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please note that this short story contains spoilers and references to past episodes of Life is Strange 2. Some creative liberties were taken to fit the narrative of this story.
> 
> My game experience playing episode 3 the first time around, back in May 2019, didn’t result in Finn’s death (nor did I participate in the Merrill heist): I was so emotional (unsurprisingly!) after watching other players’ outcomes and learning that Finn passing away was determinant. This gave further inspiration to write this short story.
> 
> (CHAPTER 1 NOTES)  
The inspiration for the cabin comes from similar cabins in/around the area of Trinidad, California, a seaside city in Humboldt County, located along the Pacific Ocean.
> 
> The song that Cassidy sings/Sean sings along with her is purely fictional, created for this short story. Any resemblance to other song lyrics is purely coincidental.
> 
> The mention of Daniel’s birthday occurring in February is non-canon and purely fictional.
> 
> The inspiration behind the idea of Sean having an ocular prosthesis goes to Diana Moore, a creator from Los Angeles, California. View her video about her childhood diagnosis with Retinoblastoma and living with an ocular prosthesis [here](https://youtu.be/5J1SWSncn6k).
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Wishing you peace!


	2. Part 2: Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set 8 years after Life is Strange 2, Sean and Cassidy make their annual trip back to Humboldt County, California to visit Finn’s gravesite and reflect on the time that has passed.
> 
> This three-part short story was inspired by “Every Time I Hear That Song” by Brandi Carlile, from her album By The Way, I Forgive You.

**Part 2: Remember**

_(February 2017 - 3 weeks before the events of Episode 3: “Wastelands”)_

Daniel, clad in pajamas, drifted to sleep.

“…and so,” Sean’s voice narrating into a whisper, “the wolf brothers survived another day together, never leaving each other’s side, and finding solace in another night’s rest.”

Taking a caring glance at Daniel soundly tucked in, Sean reached to dim their small camping lantern which sat at the head of the two brother’s sleeping bags. Their nightly routine has remained the same since the November bus ride to Eugene, Oregon: recapping their day, sharing their feelings, and a bedtime story for Daniel provided the brothers a comforting layer of normalcy. Sean placed his hand over Daniel’s, gently patting it.

_ “Que duermas bien, enano_._”_

Laying down on top of his sleeping bag and propping an arm behind his head, Sean (still in his day clothes) stared up and observed the soft shadows projected on the ceiling tent; he followed the shadowed outlines of the brothers’ backpacks and the cornered pile of Daniel’s various toys: the only worldly possessions to their names. He laid for a few more minutes, expecting to doze off. His mind felt stuck in between racing and empty, soon realizing sleep was not going to come easy tonight. Sitting up, he awkwardly but gingerly crawled out of the tent, doing his best not to wake his brother. Grabbing his water flask before leaving, he zipped the tent entrance closed, pausing slightly to listen if Daniel had shifted: silence. He slipped on his dark brown boots, not bothering to tie them tightly, and slowly made his way to the center of camp, the logs of the campfire still burning and invitingly warm.

_I’d kill for a pair of house chanclas out here_, Sean thought to himself, his feet feeling heavy. His eyes adjusted to being outside, the night’s hue and the hanging, golden stringed lights of the camp settling around his vision.

The rest of the camp had already retired to bed and to Sean’s surprise, Finn was the last one sitting at the campfire with a book: he had dragged one of the foldable lawn chairs beside the glow of the flames, providing him some reading light. The fire’s orange hues cast contours against the book’s font cover, nestled in between Finn’s tattooed hands: the silver rings on his fingers catching reflections of the fire and his face masked behind the pages. Sean settled on a wooden stool across from Finn and squinted his focus to read the book’s title: _Call Me By Your Name_.

_ Finn seems to read a lot_, Sean internally observed, admiring and gazing at Finn who was deep in concentration.

Reaching for the camp’s communal “stash” (a tin Altoid case that stored several rolled weed blunts), Sean plucked a roll out of the container, closing it with a satisfying _snap_; he placed the blunt in between his lips and with a _flick_ from his beloved vintage Puerto Lobos lighter, the smoke’s familiar aroma clouded around him. It felt different, a good different, being able to smoke freely like this: not worrying about non-understanding adults petty-busting the stash or the paranoia of his clothes adsorbing the odor. Four months since Seattle, the newness of this freedom was still a shakeup for Sean: camp life, making sure Daniel kept a low profile, laboring at Merrill’s cannabis farm, and getting better acquainted with the rest of the train-hopping gang. His old routines and worries were droplets in the ocean compared to the newness of life _now_.

“Reckon this is the first time I’ve seen you light up on your own.” Finn said playfully from behind his book, his voice in the typical tone that had not changed since Sean first heard it back in Beaver Creek.

Sean felt himself blush slightly at this observation, not realizing Finn had snuck a glance at him in between reading. He gently blew out smoke, relishing the hit.

“I couldn’t sleep…wanted to try clearing my head out here.”

Finn broke his eyes from the book, placing a dog-ear on one of the pages as his makeshift bookmark. Setting the book down on one of the camp’s “tables” (a small, gray boulder half-embedded into the earth, its surface flat and smooth from years of erosion), he picked up the lawn chair and set it closer to Sean, grinning at him and gesturing at the slow-burning blunt with darting eyebrows.

“You planning on sharin’ some of that, sweetie? You _do _recall family rules, don’t ‘cha?”

Sean chuckled and passed the blunt to Finn. “Yeah, man…I do: _“take some, give some”_…I got you.” Finn winked at his reply and exaggerated a slow-motion swipe for it and taking a seat.

“Besides,” Finn added as he relaxed into the chair, his lips pinching the blunt , “I rolled this batch earlier…so Master Chef Finn gets to enjoy the fruits of his labor before bed.”

Sean grinned and snickered appreciatively as Finn puffed a vertical geyser of smoke into the air. “You know, Sean?” he said, eyes looking up to the night sky, “I never expected to run into you and Daniel again after vamoose-ing outta Beaver Creek…but shit, now look at us: sharin’ a smoke under some winter stars. The universe is somethin’ else.”

This statement took Sean by endearing surprise, but also triggered memories of Seattle._We’ve been on the run for months…yeah, the fucking universe is something else…_

“It does feel good,” Sean slowly expressed, trying to realign his thoughts, “to know Daniel and I don’t have to pack up and leave, at least for a little while. We were really lucky to run into you guys again.”

Finn’s eyes remained fixed on the stars above. “Do you believe in fate?”

Sean opened his water flask and sipped pensively at Finn’s question, the drink still refreshingly cold, making him shiver slightly. He had not thought much about fate or possessed the desire to unpack the concept since leaving Seattle: dealing with reality and keeping Daniel safe was the bigger priority to him.

“It’s complicated,” he answered, after taking time to think. “What I do believe in, right now, is staying the course to Mexico: stacking cash, taking care of Daniel, and figuring shit out as we go.”

Finn responded by letting out an understanding _hum_, the blunt in between his lips. He plucked it out of his mouth, twisting the ends of one of his longer dreads with his other hand.

“You’re a helluva a big brother, Sean…Daniel’s lucky to have you. Fate or otherwise, you’re making a choice to look out for him. Takin’ and makin’ life on your own terms. “Staying the course”…makin’ _your _own fate. I like that.”

A series of breezes suddenly swept through the camp, making Sean shiver from his legs; flames from the campfire licked in different directions before stabilizing, the trees rustled in response, pieces of trash and leaves swirled in and through the camp with each short wind gust. Since Beaver Creek, the patches that fixed the holes and rips in Sean’s jeans began to split and come undone. While Humboldt County was not nearly as cold as Beaver Creek (Humboldt had not experienced snow since 2003), the February air was still crisp, especially at night. Sean moved his stool closer to the campfire, seeking extra warmth. Finn noticed this and reached behind his lawn chair, pulling out a denim jacket embellished with an array of punk band patches.

“Here,” Finn rose from his seat and spread the jacket over Sean’s lap, “ and don’t worry about your jeans, honey: we can stitch ‘em tomorrow afternoon when we finish at Merrill’s.” The warmth from the jacket was an instant, welcomed gift.

“Thank you, dude.” Sean said, smiling and smoothing out the jacket across the areas of his exposed skin, touched by the simplicity of the gesture. Finn gave him a comforting pat on his knee, passing the blunt back to him, a thin trail of smoke following it.

“For your added warmth, sir.”

Sean retrieved it, gesturing a “cheers” as Finn sat back in his chair.

“So…” Sean asked, motioning to Finn’s novel, “what’s that book about? I noticed you started reading it during the last train-hop, before we settled camp.” Finn nodded slowly, reaching for the book.

“Fate’s one of the big themes in this, but it’s about love…although, not in a way that mainstream society would get. I feel like this was written about a time in my own life, I relate so much. It’s written by André Aciman: the guy’s a kickass professor who teaches in New York about Proust’s writing. You ever read any Proust?”

Sean seemed nervous to say no: he knew _of_ Proust and how significant his writing was, but was always intimidated to read any of it. He hesitated slightly, not wanting to appear uncool or uncultured.

“Uh, no…at least, not yet.” He answered as Finn flashed a reassuring smile.

“Ah, don’t worry…he’s a tough one to crack. But I highly recommend _Pleasures and Days _by him: bunch-a lovely short stories translated from French. I finished it last fall, back in Vancouver.

“At this rate…” Finn continued, thumbing through a thin stack of remaining pages near the back of his current book, “I’ll be finishing _this_ by…breakfast, tomorrow.” Sean could not help but smile again, finding Finn’s voracious reading a charming trait. “How about I give it to you after? It’s a sweet read: the kind-a story that makes your heart soar…makes you rethink fate. I think you’ll like it.”

Sean processed the manner in which Finn spoke so smoothly, so purely. The way Finn’s eyes gleamed enchanted him in a way that he had not yet felt. Finn’s tone and presence felt like a secure energy.

“What about you?” Sean asked as he exhaled a puff of smoke, watching it clear in front of him and revealing Finn’s attentive gaze. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Well, hell yeah, man: I do.” Finn’s response had no trace of doubt or delay. “I’m writing my fate right _now_.”

Sean nodded in understanding, admiring Finn’s confident tone.

“Fate to me,” Finn continued, “includes the choices I make and the kindness I extend to other people: not just the shit that’s outta my control…so why sweat? But, that’s gettin’ into a conversation about karma, I think. Different chat for a different day.”

The two exchanged understanding smiles.

“Well, when you’re ready for that conversation, let me know,” Sean said, “we can have another campfire round just like tonight.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Diaz.” Finn replied, winking. At this point, Sean was convinced that Finn noticed his blushing cheeks.

Exhaling the last puff of the blunt, Sean pressed the remnants of it against the bottom of his boot, snuffing it out. He began to feel the sleepiness he had been waiting for, rubbing the back of his neck, stretching, and letting out a deep, content sigh. Sean extended the jacket to hand it back to Finn.

“Thanks again, Finn. This saved me big time, tonight was colder than I thought.”

“Nah, please,” Finn said, gently pushing the jacket back towards Sean. “feel free to keep it, at least ’til we fix those rips in your city boy jeans.” Sean smiled at the endearing “city boy” nickname Cassidy and Finn had begun calling him. “Plus, there’s a Misty Mice patch inside one of the jacket pockets…never got around to sewing that thing on, but you’re welcome to have it! It’d make a dope addition to your backpack collection.” Sean’s eyes lit up at the mention of Misty Mice and Finn’s remark about his backpack patches. Another quality that seemed to charm Sean about Finn was his knack of remembering details.

“This feels like a belated Christmas,” He expressed gratefully. The comforting conversation, Finn’s Proust recommendation, his book offering, his jacket and patch, his invaluable campfire company. Such simple, genuine gestures. Before he could express his thanks again, Finn added:

“I heard you earlier tonight, by the way, before dinner…singin’ a Misty Mice song. You’re gonna give Cassidy a run for her money: you’ve got a cute voice.” Sean felt himself blushing again, briefly shifting his eyes from Finn’s smiling gaze.

They both stood up, chucking together as Sean clutched the jacket. Finn reached for it and suavely draped it over Sean’s shoulders. They chuckled again and he opened his arms, inviting Sean for a hug: for a brief moment, he felt time suspend. Finn’s scent filled his senses and the genuine warmth of their bodies made his heart race.

“Bedtime for Finny-boy,” Finn said, patting Sean’s back before gently pulling away. “Another “up and at ‘em” day tomorrow, here in good ol’ Humboldt County.”

“Yeah,” Sean stammered softly, enchanted by the tenderness of Finn’s hug. He paused shortly as they met each other’s gazes. Finn had not stopped smiling and Sean reflected the same. “Goodnight, Finn…and thank you, again…really: for everything tonight.”

“Likewise, laddie: thanks for the smoke and company. You’re a sweet guy, Sean Diaz…I’m happy you joined us here.” With a last pat on Sean's shoulder, Finn scooped his book underneath his arm, walking back to his tent. He turned around and raised a hand to Sean, still smiling.

“I swear, the universe is somethin’ else. G’night, sweetheart! Sleep well.”

Sean waved in return and watched as Finn crawled into his own tent, zipping it closed. He felt waves of warmth wash over his heart.

_All of that was…really, really nice._

After extinguishing the campfire, Sean pulled out his pocket flashlight, helping to illuminate his short path back to his tent. He cradled his water flask in between his other arm and chest, using his hand to keep Finn’s jacket warmly draped around him; the more he thought of Finn, each step on the dirt ground felt more like clouds.

In the coziness of the Diaz tent, Sean was relieved to see Daniel still tucked in, his little brother’s soft breathing more audible now, deeply dreaming. He quietly changed out of his day clothes and comfortably slid into his sleeping bag. Sleep began to rest heavily on Sean’s eyelids, but he suddenly remembered Finn’s Misty Mice comment. The denim jacket was pressed with a scent that was distinctly Finn: a combination of weed and waning cologne, and again, his heart leapt. He turned on his left side and began to check each of the jacket’s pockets, pawing into the denim until his fingers brushed against fuzzy felt material. He drew out the patch: a Misty Mice logo, the color scheme indicating it came from the band’s early years. He ran his thumb across the surface of the patch, a tiny smile forming on his face again.

_Dude…he called my singing “cute”_, he thought to himself.

With sleep not being far along now, Sean pulled the top of his sleeping bag over him as he began to float into his dreams. As his eyes closed, his mind whispered in a hush:

_Finn…_

* * * * * *

Blossoming with a stretch, Sean woke up in the morning. He peered to his right and knew Daniel was already awake and at breakfast: his little brother’s empty sleeping bag was rolled up and neatly placed in the corner beside his backpack, with his toys in a neat pile. Sean grinned, feeling positive about the small things his brother did to show that he _was _embracing responsibility.

_Great job, enano._

He inhaled slowly and stretched again, the sleepy sensations in his head slowly fading with each passing minute. Above him, the tent’s ceiling bathed in soft natural light from the outside; he looked to the left of his sleeping bag and saw Finn’s denim jacket curled exactly where he had fallen asleep with it and his heart unexpectedly fluttered as Finn’s familiar scent filled his senses again.

Emerging from the tent, greeted by the morning sounds of bird songs, he saw a paperback book propped up against his brown boots with a torn notebook page sticking out, sandwiched in between the font cover. Sean smiled, picking up the book and pulling the piece of paper out to read it:

[](https://ibb.co/47gW285)

____________________

_(8 years later, Humboldt County, California)_

The cabin bed cradled Sean, who had finally settled under two layers of flannel blankets. He had turned off the desk lamp, the fireplace now the only light source in the petite living room, providing a comforting ambiance.

He reached across to the tiny nightstand and grabbed the novel he had taken out earlier, its pages frayed and some folded, along with his head headphones, snugly securing them over his ears. He tapped through his cellphone to access his music playlists and scrolled through the plethora of music, stopping at the very last compilation that he had titled “Finn”.

Sean pressed play. The delicate tempo of the first track introduced by a nostalgic sounding mandolin. The pages of the old book felt delicate and weighty in his hands.

_“Oh, to see without my eyes,_

_the first time that you kissed me…”_

The song played on and Sean’s heart followed word by word. An aching longing manifested in his chest and settled like a crater as his mind dove into memories of Finn: meeting in Beaver Creek…finding each other again on a freight train…the month of relative safety the camp brought him…that first night talking to Finn about books and life…Sean’s last night at the camp, when they shared their only kiss… the night Finn was killed.

Sean placed the novel down and grasped for one of the pillows, clutched it tightly to his chest, and allowed himself to feel and cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please note that this short story contains spoilers and references to past episodes of Life is Strange 2. Some creative liberties were taken to fit the narrative of this story.
> 
> My game experience playing episode 3 the first time around, back in May 2019, didn’t result in Finn’s death (nor did I participate in the Merrill heist): I was so emotional (unsurprisingly!) after watching other players’ outcomes and learning that Finn passing away was determinant. This gave further inspiration to write this short story.
> 
> (CHAPTER 2 NOTES)  
The book that Finn reads/discusses refers to the real life novel Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman. 
> 
> Lyric reference and all song credits for “Mystery of Love” go to Sufjan Stevens from the album Call Me by Your Name: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Wishing you peace!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please note that this short story contains spoilers and references to past episodes of Life is Strange 2. Some creative liberties were taken to fit the narrative of this story.
> 
> My game experience playing episode 3 the first time around, back in May 2019, didn’t result in Finn’s death (nor did I participate in the Merrill heist): I was so emotional (unsurprisingly!) after watching other players’ outcomes and learning that Finn passing away was determinant. This gave further inspiration to write this short story.
> 
> (CHAPTER 1 NOTES)  
The inspiration for the cabin comes from similar cabins in/around the area of Trinidad, California, a seaside city in Humboldt County, located along the Pacific Ocean.
> 
> The song that Cassidy sings/Sean sings along with her is purely fictional, created for this short story. Any resemblance to other song lyrics is purely coincidental.
> 
> The mention of Daniel’s birthday occurring in February is non-canon and purely fictional.
> 
> The inspiration behind the idea of Sean having an ocular prosthesis goes to Diana Moore, a creator from Los Angeles, California. View her video about her childhood diagnosis with Retinoblastoma and living with an ocular prosthesis [here](https://youtu.be/5J1SWSncn6k).
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Wishing you peace!


End file.
